I run outside of the corner store, groceries in hand as I use my arm and desperately try to keep the rain off myself.
Raindrops pour down on me, covering me like a thick blanket. I question why we never thought once about buying an umbrella in all the places we've lived.
I use my arms to cover myself and tug against my black cloth hoodie, which does absolutely nothing to keep me dry.
I peer up at the inky night sky covered by the murky thunderheads. Between the clouds, the moon beams an iridescent light that shimmers against the wet concrete underneath me.
As I gaze into the moon's face, I think of that note I found in Damien's guitar case some time ago.
☾ Meet us under the waxing gibbous. - R
I study it closely, yet I don't know how much help I'll be to myself, I'm not familiar with moon phases.
I quickly break my gaze as I hear a commotion behind me. A black 1976 Mustang slowly pulls into a crowded parking lot filled with strange people and music. The car honks and a crowd of people part out of its way as it rolls into a parking space.
